


Erased

by nekostyx



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bokuto is actually a beautiful boyfriend, Erased AU, Gets really fucking dark, Happy Ending, I PROMISE THERE’S A HAPPY BOKUAKA ENDING, Implied Sexual Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Lots of Angst, M/M, Murder Mystery, Smut, bokuaka in love, bokuto can time travel, im so sorry, unstable narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26695399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekostyx/pseuds/nekostyx
Summary: Bokuto’s lucky number is 4. Well, technically 5 if you count the fact he’s hopelessly in love with his pretty setter.This time, however, his lucky number is 3.Exactly 3 chances to go back in time and uncover the true Akaashi. To unravel his secrets. To save Akaashi Keiji from a murder no one will believe.Love and death are closer than Bokuto could’ve ever imagined, especially when he finds death, a shrouded shadow impossible to catch, looming behind every turn.Basically, the murder au no one asked for, but I really wanted to try doing an erased-inspired bokuaka.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	Erased

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys I was super bored and I wrote this because I love dark/haunting AUs. I promise there is a happy bokuaka ending to this bc I absolutely cannot write sad stories. BEWARE THIS IS INSPIRED BY THE ANIME ERASED AND CAN BE VERY TRIGGERING!!!!! TW: sexual abuse, rumored suicide.

[AMV ](https://youtu.be/4B4D75rmhqk)

_**HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU WATCH THIS ^^^^^ AMV THAT INSPIRED THIS (ALSO IT’S JUST REALLY FUCKING GOOD IN THE FIRST PLACE)**_  
  
Bokuto Koutarou digs through his pant pocket, fingers brushing past lint and crumbled wrappers before settling on some tangled headphones. Not even bothering to undo the knots, he shoves them into his ear before turning up the volume.

_Sunlight on your skin when I'm not around. Sh-_

Tsk. The skip button is pressed a little too hard. How many times had they blasted that song in his car as he drove them home from practice, their voices drowning out the seemingly meaningless lyrics.

Bokuto stares up at the sun, briefly wondering if he was happy now.

Was he ever happy?

The lingering question stings his chest, especially when he realizes he'll never receives an answer. Still, that doesn't stop that small flash of hopeful longing. So, so many questions. Not even about this, but about __him__ in general: _his_ favorite color, _his_ best memory, _his_ favorite moments. Instead, he wasted their time on stupid, meaningless things- talking about the newest pop song, watching the same movie every Friday night, falling into emo moods. It’s not the first time he’s felt insecure about himself, but it’s the first time he’s truly hated who he was because perhaps if he wasn’t Bokuto, wasn’t needlessly loud, always filling up the air with random thoughts, perhaps he could’ve gotten more of Akaashi.

He’s so lost in thought, he barely notices the towering red brick building of Fukurodani looming over him. Someone runs by, accidentally jostling him, before quickly spinning around to apologize.

He sees their mouth move, whispering his name, and he turns up the volume on his phone, clicking his tongue in frustration when he discovers the volume is already at its maximum. 

They don’t deserve it. No one deserves his anger, and most definitely, Bokuto does not have a worthy reason to be angry, but it’s red and hot and pumps through his veins like a hum of electricity and it feels so, so much better than the cold emptiness that he fell into when he first heard the news. That time, he had just stupidly blinked and muttered what. He didn’t believe it, and it’s simple to believe that until he realized Akaashi stopped showing up, was never going to show up anymore, and then things fell apart, violently, messily, at the seams and everywhere in between.

He still feels like that- unraveling all so quickly and all so slowly in the worst ways. Most days the emotions flit through him like a haunted melody on repeat- the anger, the confusion, the shock. And, of course, the sadness. Bone crushing, aching sadness that buries its way into the very core of your existence.It’s the only thing that greets him as he slides into the cramped chair of his home room. People mill around on the classroom, eyes darting to him before hurriedly looking away.This is not the Bokuto Koutarou they know. No, to them, he’s the ace of a national team, senior captain who’s friends with everyone. He’s happy and positive and...

Completely, utterly alone.

It suffocates him, like a tidal wave of fury without mercy, crashing over him again and again until he realizes he didn’t want to breathe in the first place. Bokuto buries his head in the sleeves of his gray hoodie, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to drown out this ocean with scalding anger.

When the noise in his head stops, finally, he feels more empty than before, a closer to the nothingness of oblivion death brings. He doesn’t mean to, never wanted to, but golden eyes dart around until they settle on a familiar oak door, now completely cleaned with the only remainder of its dark history being the yellow and black police tape sealing it off from the rest of the world. Whatever. Bokuto can still recall the first time he saw it- the deep red gashes splattered across the room, hints of a metallic scent lingering in the room, pencils and books strewn haphazardly across the floor as if someone had put up a fight.

It smells like bleach now. Clean. Empty. Nothing. All the sins of untruths washed away.

Bokuto tears his gaze away, cocoons himself within the gray hoodie that still smells faintly of Akaashi- like books, salonpas, and vanilla- if he searches hard enough. 

_He remembers the first practice, the first time they met when Bokuto bounded up to the younger boy, already causing a stir among them with his pretty features and emerald eyes. He’s already sweating profusely, the drops pooling in his hands as he vainly tries to rub them against his shorts.  
  
_

_”Akashi, right?”  
_

_Midnight blue eyes bore into him. “It’s Akaashi.”  
_

_He sounds angry. Is he angry? Maybe Bokuto made a mistake because Akaashi doesn’t seem to like him very much.  
_

_“Right, sorry.” He apologizes and sheepishly rubs the back of his head. “Could you toss to me?”  
  
_

_His face is set in stone, carved from the finest, most elegant marble. What is he thinking?  
  
_

_“Alright.”_

_Bokuto doesn’t expect the sudden explosion in his chest, like a resonating thunder that echoes within.  
_

_The grin is genuine, and he thinks he can even see the barest hints of a smile on Akaashi’s face too- a twitch of the lips, rock hard eyes that soften into steel. He’s making progress, and the thought of another friend, a setter one at that, makes his head spin.  
_

_Akaashi’s eyes shift the slightest bit to the left, a cautious glance to something behind Bokuto, and if Bokuto had looked, he might’ve noticed dark eyes widening by a fraction, a storm of fear and resignation thundering before it’s washed away by a clean slate.  
  
_

_Why didn’t he look?_

It’s the sharp shrill of the bell that jolts Bokuto awake, and he rubs the remaining sleep out of golden eyes, once breathtakingly stunning, but now a dull amber, tinted more brown than golden. He’s still stuck in the haze of the dream, the only place where he can now meet Akaashi, and it leaves a bittersweet taste on the tip of his tongue. This time though, this time there’s no terrible feeling in his mouth, just tastes like mouthwash and the coffee he drank last night to not fall asleep. 

For the first time, Bokuto feels _okay,_ the beauty of glistening green eyes and soft lips adding that extra bounce to his step, that devilish grin to his otherwise tired face. That’s right! Why was he so down before? He’s an ace down to the very meaning of the word, and he knows someone said that to him, but he can’t remember who. It’s okay, though, because perhaps Akaashi will know the way Akaashi knows all things. In fact, Akaashi should be waiting for him right now, nose buried in a thick novel as he waits outside Bokuto’s home room.

Bokuro nearly sprints to the door, that heavy melancholy in his chest pushed aside by a sudden feather-light happiness. It feels like the way all good things do, like blue skies and sunlight warmth and Akaashi Keiji. He’s bubbling with excitement. 

_Emerald eyes.  
  
_ _Midnight curls.  
_

_Light beneath a shadow._

Bokuto rips open the wooden door in his fervor, the poor flimsy thing protesting with every creak, and bright eyes scan the empty halls for a sea of dark hair. 

_Where’s Akaashi?_

Perhaps he’s late? But no, Akaashi is punctual, usually a few minutes early and always on time. 

Then, maybe he’s simply forgotten where Bokuto’s classroom is. Yes! That must be it. Puffing his chest with his discovery, Bokuto leaves to search for his setter.   
  
He _can’t_ find Akaashi. Why can’t he find Akaashi? He’s looked everywhere- the bathrooms where Akaashi used to take Bokuto, the younger writhing underneath him in a beautiful mess of moans and gasps, the now dead Sakura trees, winter and cold robbing them of their beauty. Bokuto’s even asked some of the second years, Akaashi’s classmates who would simply glance at him with wariness and pity before silently moving on, effectively ignoring him.   
  


_Why is no one answering him?_

Bokuto huffs, slightly confused and a bit upset. He just wants to find Akaashi, maybe hold his hand for a bit if the setter allows. He plops down on the radiator, and it creaks beneath his weight. 

Bokuto smiles softly, a memory buried deep suddenly springing afresh. This is where they had shared their first kiss- Bokuto, a humbling mess of nerves and words, and Akaashi, slightly terrified, but full of hope. Bokuto leans in, grips Akaashi’s chin with the gentlest of touches, and tilts his jaw up. His lips are a bit chapped, but Akaashi’s are feather soft and he tastes like the sun on a cold day. Akaashi hesitantly slips his tongue in, tracing Bokuto’s lips and memorizing every crevice to heart as if Bokuto might disappear any second, ripped from Akaashi’s reaches. It’s not a type of hunger Bokuto expected from the quiet, polite setter.

The lingering memory of taste tugs a grin from Bokuto’s lips, and he outlines them softly. Akaashi would...

It hits him like a fucking train, sending him stumbling off the radiator as the familiar weight suffocates him. He’s drowning. He’s drowning. Tidal waves of red, it’s Akaashi’s blood, Akaashi’s lifeless eyes staring back at him. It crashes over him, pulling him under, deeper and harder until he hits rock bottom, but there’s nothing here. Soft, thin fingers caress his cheek. Bokuto shuts his eyes. _Don’t open them. Don’t open them. Don’t look._

A familiar hum of a husky voice. Cruel words flung at him in a mocking tone. The hand is cold and pale. The voice even colder. Bokuto is scared of green. 

_Why didn’t you look?_


End file.
